


Taking it slow

by Juliaenerys



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Exchange Student AU, F/M, enjoy!!!!, i mean it's supposed to be cute and funny fyi so, i wrote this so long ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:56:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4597122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliaenerys/pseuds/Juliaenerys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your family is hosting an exchange student from Sokovia during summer break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> i know this isn't great pls just dont cringe if you choose to read lmao i'll post the two next chapters really soon btw
> 
> and these tunes helped me write this fic so maybe you wanna listen to them!! they're great!!  
> Come under the covers - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsT4V2o1gHQ  
> Work this body - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzkCk6-d8Oc  
> Anna sun - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDVW81bXo0s

                So, that’s what people from Sokovia look like. The name sounds eerie. You don’t know Eastern Europe that well – perhaps you should have at least looked up where that country is. But you might ignore that information and instead ask later about what the landscapes look like and what type of houses the families live in. That’s what people from Sokovia look like, you think again. They’re walking down the moving staircase, not that far. There’s a couple asking a member of the airport staff for directions. A business man is on the phone. A mother smiles at her child, and the little girl lets out hundreds of words at a fast pace. It always sounds funny hearing another language spoken by a child.

                Thank God you could get coffee before having to stand there to greet him. Actually, you didn’t want to go at the beginning. But your parents forced you to and even though you weren’t that enthusiastic about it, it wouldn’t have been polite not to be there. But to be honest, you’d rather not have to be the one holding the large piece of white cardboard with the name _P. Maximoff_ written on it in tall, black letters. Your father did tell you what _P_. stands for but you forgot.

                The flow of people going down the stairs is getting thinner. Maximoff had better arrive because you’re close to finishing your drink. Also, he’d better be fun. Last year, when your family hosted an Italian girl, she spent ninety percent of her trip outside the house and without you, which resulted in you wasting a month of summer break rotting at home. And the year before, the Japanese boy, though fluent in English, turned out to be a proper asshole. It happened twice but hopefully it’s not going to happen a third time.

                You begin to wonder which one of these people is Maximoff. Probably not the middle-aged man reading a foreign newspaper. Nor the young lady speaking animatedly to someone on the phone through her hands-free kit. But even though your parents do know his age and what he looks like, you don’t. You should have looked at the pictures, to know what to expect. That’s something else to add to your list of should-haves. “He’s not here yet, right?” you ask your mother. She shakes her head. There isn’t anyone else walking down the stairs now. Maybe the idiot missed his flight, you start to think.

                Until a hand taps your shoulder. You start and turn around. Who the fuck does that to people? “Excuse me? I’m Pietro, are you Mr. and Mrs. S.?” Immediately, your parents start smiling and your father shakes the newcomer’s hand. He’s a young man, in his early twenties, a bit older than you. Silver-haired, grinning. Tall. He’s got a slight accent, too. “And you are (Y/N), right?” he asks you suddenly. Taken aback, you nod without a word. “Nice to meet you. Sorry, I’m a bit late, I always get lost in airports.” Your parents laugh and you force a smile. He’s sort of intimidating.

                “We should go and get your luggage,” your father says.

                “Right,” Pietro replies. He smiles at you once again as you head for the baggage claim area. “I’m so happy to be there,” he says. He’s walking fast, looking like he’s both amused and impressed. You’re wondering how come he can have that much energy inside him after such a long flight and despite being jetlagged. You do not have to wait for a long time for the baggage to arrive. When Pietro spots his suitcase, you reach for its handle but he catches it first. “I’m fine, thanks” he says.

                “Sure,” you reply, cringing when you realize this is the first thing you’ve said to him since he arrived. At least, he sounds like a nice person. On the way back to your parents’ car, which they parked underground, he engages into an enthusiastic conversation about what you’re going to do during his stay. He’s really charismatic. Both your mother and your father seemed to have fallen under some sort of spell. You open the boot for him to put his suitcase inside before the two of you sit on the back seats.

                “I always take CDs with me when I go somewhere,” Pietro says. “You can listen to them if you want.” He opens the backpack he was carrying and takes out a sort of case. You’re not entirely sure what to do with them but you zip it open, revealing between twenty and thirty hard discs. “Your parents told me you liked music so I grabbed my favourite stuff,” Pietro adds. You can’t help but smile.

                “That’s nice,” you say. “Dad, can we play a CD?” When your father approves, you turn to Pietro again. Out of the car window, you catch a glimpse of small clouds, and their color is somehow very similar to the one of young man’s hair. “I don’t really know which one to choose,” you let out.

                “They’re all good,” Pietro answers with an amused smirk.

                “Right,” you chuckle before taking one of the CDs randomly and handing it to your father. You give the case back to Pietro. He looks happy with himself for some reason. After a couple minutes, you decide the music isn’t bad – it’s actually quite good.

                When your father parks the car in the street you live in, your mother turns to you. “(Y/N), why don’t you go inside with Pietro and show him around the house? We’ll take your suitcase,” she adds to the young man. You give him a small smile before opening the door and stepping out of the car. Suddenly you feel weird. The student who came here two years ago through the association your parents are part of, that boy from Tokyo, spent the whole month making pretentious remarks about what was wrong with the house and with the way your family acted. Hoping Pietro won’t be as annoying, you unlock the front door, let him in, and walk in after him.

                “So…yeah,” you begin. “You can take your shoes off if you want to.” Grinning, the young man bends down to untie the laces of his trainers, then you take his jacket. He does look pleased to be here and somehow, it makes you feel excited. “The living-room is over here, we have a TV, and the kitchen is over there,” you begin, pointing at the respective rooms. “Let’s go upstairs,” you smile. While you’re going up, you can hear your parents stepping through the front door. Your house has three small floors and a basement: downstairs are the living-room and the kitchen ; first floor, the bathroom and your parents’ bedroom; first floor, yours and the guest room. “That’s your room,” you announce as you open another door.

                “Oh, I thought I would sleep in yours,” Pietro says.

                “Uh, I don’t know…I don’t think – ” you begin, flustered.

                “Just kidding,” the young man says. These brief syllables sound different, slightly touched up by his accent. But they’re just right. You turn away to hide the blush that you feel splashing on your cheeks. The guest room has a simple bed, a cupboard, as well as a desk. The walls are painted a light shade of blueish grey. “This is really pretty,” Pietro tells you. You don’t really know whether to show him your bedroom or not. But on a sudden impulse, you decide to. “Wow,” Pietro says. “Hey, you can see the garden from here, right?”

                “Yeah, I can,” you say awkwardly, wondering how much your parents have told him about you and your stuff. Just in that moment, your mother knocks on your door.

                “Pietro, I put your suitcase in your bedroom,” she says, “You can put your clothes in the cupboard. Also, in case you need to use the Internet, the Wi-Fi password is 18-26-45.”

                “Thank you, Mrs. S.,” the young man says.

                “Please call me by my first name,” your mother smiles. “(Y/N), come help me cook dinner while Pietro gets settled. I hope you like fish, Pietro.”

                “Sure,” he says. Your mother leaves and you’re about to do the same, but he calls you back. “I’ll unpack later, I can help you cook,” he says. “I’m very good at it.” You snort at his remark and motion him to follow you. After dinner, you offer Pietro to use the bathroom first. You go after him and before heading to bed, you discuss your plans for a while. He sounds cool.

 

~

 

                You’re usually the first one to wake up in the house, especially in summer. Because of the orientation of your bedroom and contrary to your parents’, the sunrays drift in by 8 in the morning. Quietly, you throw the sheets away, grab your phone and head towards the door. You often use that time alone to wash your face in the bathroom and have breakfast by yourself. But when you step out, you’re surprised to see the door of the guest room is open, as well as the shutters. You peek inside. The bed is made, but Pietro isn’t in it.

                You go to the bathroom first before heading downstairs, thinking Pietro is probably there. Yesterday, your parents told him he could make coffee or tea at any hour if he wanted some. You head to the kitchen, but you don’t see him. He isn’t in the living-room either. You don’t know whether to feel amused, curious or worried. “Pietro? You there?” you call quietly. No one answers. The young man’s shoes aren’t in the hall anymore, nor is his jacket. That’s it, he ran away. Maybe he was too polite to say something was wrong and he just took off. You roll your eyes. That’s a stupid thought. His suitcase was still in the bedroom.

                You decide to wait until your parents wake up to do anything. In the meantime, you make coffee and pour yourself a glass of orange juice. The house is really quiet. You have a habit of opening the window halfway to hear the birds chirping in the garden. The garden isn’t that big, but there are two trees in it, one being a cherry tree. The fruits will be ripe in a few days. Just when the clock strikes 9, you hear the front door opening. Jumping, you walk to the hall quickly.

                Pietro is standing there, wearing his trainers and sweatpants, earphones plugged in. Looking slightly out of breath. His cheeks are pink. “Hi,” he says.

                “I – I thought you’d left,” you blurt. You feel embarrassed, standing there in your pyjamas.

                “I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you,” Pietro replies as he unties his shoelaces. “I go running in the morning.”

                “Oh, right, should’ve known,” you reply, already feeling stupid for what you just said. You clear your throat. “Cup of coffee?”

                “That would be great,” Pietro grins. The two of you go to the kitchen and you close the door, then you pour two hot cups, and a second glass of orange juice. “Thank you,” the young man says as he sits down at the table, on the chair facing yours. Over your glass, you take time to observe him discreetly. The colour on his cheeks has faded. His hair is slightly messed up. It looks like the color isn’t natural, but that’s not a bad thing. The roots are darker. You find yourself liking it. There’s stubble on Pietro’s upper lip and jaw, which probably makes him look older than he does without it.

                “That’s funny because usually, I’m the first one up in the morning,” you say, trying to prompt conversation.

                “It’s the same for me,” Pietro replies. “My sister gets up very late.”

                “You have a sister?” you ask, genuinely interested.

                Pietro smiles. “Yes, her name is Wanda. We are twins.”

                That’s when you begin to really like him being there. You keep talking – about small things, but you have to start somewhere, right? And it allows you to listen to him for real. His voice, grazed by the Eastern accent you expected before meeting him, has sharp, cutting edges. The vowels are brief; the consonants, hard like steel, except for the Ts and the Rs, which hit and slide on his tongue just softly and differently enough to show he isn’t a native English speaker. When he speaks about something that makes him smile, his eyes go all crinkly. They’re grey but tinged with blue. His skin is faintly red at the edges and underneath. “And you go running everyday?” you ask him eventually.

                “Yeah, I have to, for training,” Pietro answers. “I’m competing in athletics races, at home. I’m quite good at that too.”

                “Oh, wow. Alright,” you reply. “I swim. Sometimes,” you add.

                “Is there a swimming pool in town?” the young man asks.

                “Sure, we can go this afternoon if you want to,” you offer.

                Pietro looks thrilled. “Yeah, that’s great,” he says with the grin that you like. He’s got something. Usually, when meeting new people, it takes you a while to get used to them and relax, but his presence and his friendliness make you feel comfortable very quickly.

                “Go where?” your mother asks as she opens the door and walks in.

                “Swimming pool,” you say.

                “Good morning, Mrs. S.,” Pietro lets out.

                “First name,” your mother reminds him.

                “Right,” he chuckles.

                That morning, you find out Pietro sings under the shower. And that it’s really funny. You shower after he does, and the bathroom smells like shampoo you’ve never smelt before. You take a look at the bottle Pietro seems to have brought here. There are words written on it in a language you don’t understand – except for a few English ones here and there. When you get out of the bathroom, you can hear _Uptown Funk_ playing very loud in Pietro’s room. You laugh again.

                Pietro has undeniable charisma. Within less than a day, your mother giggles every time he says something and your father treats him like he’s his son. You’re off to the swimming pool in the middle of the afternoon. “Ever competed?” Pietro asks you on the way there.

                “Used to,” you say. “I quit when I started high school, didn’t have enough time for it.”

                As soon as you’ve paid for your entry at the swimming pool, Pietro smirks at you. “First one in the water gets to dunk the other,” he throws out before getting inside a changing cubicle and slamming the door. You hear him laugh. He’s a child. But you rush inside another room and lock the door before changing faster than you ever have. Of course, when you get out, Pietro’s is left open and he’s not in it. “Pietro!” you shout, heading to the showers.

                “You are late!” you hear from afar.

                “Asshole,” you mumble, restraining a smile. Almost slipping on the tiled floor, you go after him. You stay under the shower for barely ten seconds then grab your bag again and enter the swimming pool’s main room. You put your stuff in a locker, and look around. No trace of silver hair. Amused, you decide to be compliant and give him the opportunity to prank you. After diving into the big pool, you swim around lazily…until two hands push your shoulders down hard and you end up deep underwater.

                As soon as you surface, you hear him laugh. “I warned you,” he says.

                “Alright,” you say back, “now you dunked me, now I get to dunk you.” As soon as you’re done talking, you push him under the surface with all your strength. You hear him making air bubbles. It feels strangely satisfying.

                “Fair enough,” Pietro says then, coughing out water. The swimming pool has a big pool, a smaller one with hotter water for kids, a long slide, and a pool with bubbles. As soon as Pietro spots the last one, a grin spreads on his face and he drags you out of the big pool. “There is no way I’m not going in there today,” he says. The bubble pool isn’t deep – you barely have water up to your belly button, but when sitting, it’s just right. You settle on one if the seats curved in the tiled floor while Pietro stands there, amazed by the bubbles. He turns to you.

                “Nice,” you say.

                “You’re not so bad either,” he replies, mischief at the edge of his voice.

                “I was talking about the pool,” you cut. His puzzled and disappointed face makes you burst out laughing. “That, too,” you add quietly. He sits in the middle of the pool instead of going for a seat and just floats around. You close your eyes. Several years ago, you used to come here with your mother once or twice a week and train while she would stay here, then you would join her to relax. But barely five minutes later, Pietro taps your shoulder.

                “I bet you can’t beat me,” he says.

                You open your eyes. “What?”

                “I’m racing you.”

                “Alright,” you chuckle. “Do you always have to go from something to something else that fast?”

                “Yeah,” Pietro answers.

                “You should take it slow, then.”

                “I’m not doing that, no.”

                You both stand on the starting blocks and count to three slowly before diving at the same time. First one to come back to this side of the pool wins. You try not to focus on Pietro and instead to swim the way you swam in competition, even though you’re nowhere as good as you used to be. He touches the other end of the pool before you but you don’t think about it and instead roll under water, then slam your feet against the tiling to go back the other way. You reach the end a couple seconds after him. He’s smirking, breathing fast, his silver hair is soaking wet.

                “Fine, you win,” you concede, slightly disappointed.

                “Told you. I’m better than you,” he replies. You turn away but he grabs your arm and pulls you back. “Hey, I’m just joking. You’re the first one to be so close to beating me,” he laughs. “I’m super fast. No hard feelings, okay?”

                “No hard feelings,” you reply, amused. He smiles brightly. You let yourself float in the water next to him for a moment. Then you shake your head. “Super fast, huh?”

 

~

 

                Your mother seems happy to hear you laughing out loud and joking when you come back home with Pietro early in the evening. “Had fun?”

                “Yeah, it was great,” you say.

                “Your father told me he’d borrowed movies from the DVD store,” your mother announces. “Maybe we can check them out and watch one tonight.”

                After dinner and after the movie, you’re reading a book in your room when you hear a knock on your door. “Hey,” Pietro says. He’s wearing pyjamas – sweatpants and Superman t-shirt. “I was wondering if I could use your computer? I promised Wanda I’d Skype-call her tonight.”

                “Sure,” you say. You turn your computer on and head to the door to leave Pietro alone with his sister but he asks you to stay. “Come on, she’ll want to see you.”

                “Alright,” you laugh.

                Wanda Maximoff is nothing like her brother and doesn’t look like him at all, except for the look in her eyes and the hair color. Well, the color Pietro’s hair would be if it wasn’t dyed. Which is dark brown, slightly red. “Hello,” she says. Her accent is heavier than her brother’s.

                “Hey,” Pietro greets her. “What time is it over there?”

                “Four in the morning,” his sister yawns. “It’s okay.”

                “Here’s (Y/N),” Pietro says. Your name sounds different pronounced by him. You start to think it sounds even better this way.

                “Hi,” you say timidly. Eventually – and you believe they probably don’t notice it, especially Pietro – they switch to Sokovian and you can’t understand anything they say. They speak fast, animatedly, and sometimes you can hear your name or your parents’ names. Their words sound colourful and you can make out several sounds you don’t hear in English at all. Actually, it sounds like a mixture of Italian and Spanish. And yet again, it’s still completely different.

                “Make sure he washes his dirty clothes, sometimes he wears the same shirt for an entire week,” Wanda says to you, back to English, after a while.

                “I’ll take care of that,” you giggle.

                “And don’t believe him when he says he’s good at something, he’s just a little kid.”

                “Twelve minutes older than you,” Pietro mumbles.

                “Shut up, Pietro, you are 10 years old inside that head of yours,” Wanda replies. You can’t help laughing. It’s almost a shame she didn’t come with her brother to spend a month at your place as well. “Now go away, I want to go back to sleep.”

                “You were the one who asked me to call!” Pietro says.

                “Right,” Wanda smirks. “Bye, (Y/N),” she adds sweetly.

                “Bye,” you reply. Pietro grumbles goodnight but still waves at her before he ends the call.

                “You’re lucky to have a sister,” you say. “She’s great.”

                “Yeah, I know,” Pietro replies.

                “Are you going running tomorrow?”

                “Yeah.”

                “I think I might be coming with you,” you say.

                “Really?” Pietro asks, looking pleasantly surprised.

                “Yeah, why?”

                “I don’t know if you can keep up,” the young man teases.

                “We’ll see that.”

 

 

 


	2. Two

 

                When Pietro told you he was going running every morning, you expected him to wake you up at half past seven or eight. Not six. “Who’s touching me. Who the fuck are you,” you mumble, still half-asleep, when he shakes your shoulder to catch your attention.

                “Pietro Maximoff from Sokovia, your family is hosting me during the month of July, remember?” the young man whispers, amused.

                “Shit,” you swear. “What time is it?”

                “Six o’clock, why?”

                “Is that your idea of _getting up a bit earlier_?” you ask him groggily. “Even I don’t wake up at that time during summer break.”

                “Well, I do,” Pietro replies. “And so do you, today.” Mercilessly, he drags you off your bed and up. “Get dressed and wear a jacket. Yesterday it was a bit cold before seven.” You nod, rubbing your forehead. Shouldn’t have stayed up late reading last night. Pietro goes downstairs, making almost no sound, while you grab shorts, the first t-shirt you see, underwear, and a jacket. You put your running shoes on and join him in the hall. Still haven’t figured out how come he can have so much energy so early in the morning.

                “Where did you go yesterday?” you ask him, restraining yet another yawn.

                “I just wandered around, you know. The houses are really pretty around here,” Pietro answers. He’s wearing his backpack. You open the front door. “How fast can you run?”

                “Depends how long we’ll be running,” you say.

                “Well, let’s see,” the young man lets out before he takes off as soon as he steps on the sidewalk. Taking a deep breath in, you follow him.

                The first five minutes are terrible. You’re not used to going running, especially this early. Every inch of your body begs for mercy, begs you to stop and lie down. But somehow you know Pietro will tease you if you do. And you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. He seemed to be impressed by your swimming yesterday, so why not prove him you can run as well? Breathe in, breathe out. You speed up.

                After that, it only gets better. You feel all of your muscles waking up one by one as the sun rises higher and higher up. The sky goes from pink to baby blue. There isn’t anybody walking in the streets but a few cars pass by from time to time, and you see a young woman riding a bike with groceries in the basket a bit later. Pietro is still ahead of you and he turns around every now and then to check you’re still following. “Wanna take a break?” he asks shortly before seven.

                “Yeah,” you admit. When you stop, you already feel your thighs getting sore. You’re breathing fast and your cheeks must be scarlet with heat. Sweaty palms. Pietro is on top form, fresh as a daisy, and looks eager to start again. He whistles a melody you do not recognize. “Thanks,” you say when he hands you a water bottle. That’s when you realize he’s got _that_ look on his face. “What?” you ask. “Am I that funny?”

                “No,” Pietro says innocently.

                “Then what?” you carry on. “Oh. Right. I’m horribly slow for you.”

                “Not that horribly slow. But you need to learn how to run, you’re doing it wrong,” Pietro says with disarming honesty. “You’re not breathing right, your strides are too short and too fast and your body is too stiff.”

                “That’s nice to hear,” you mumble.

                Pietro gets closer to you and traces a line in the air, parallel to your body. “Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth, yes?”

                “That’s what I was doing,” you argue.

                “No,” he smiles. “Breathe like this, it’s better. Deep breaths, also.” He gets behind you and puts both his hands on your shoulders, shaking you softly. “Relax your body. You look like a marble statue. Marble statues don’t run. When you run and you want to run faster, instead of taking more strides, take longer ones. You don’t tense up.”

                “Alright,” you say. When he removes his hands, you feel lighter, but also disappointed, for some reason. “Do you want to go faster now?”

                “I want you to run the right way,” Pietro corrects you, laughing. “Where can we go? What’s your favourite place?”

                “I like the bridge that goes over the railroad,” you say. “I mean, when you’re in the middle of it, you can see the hills and the houses.”

                “It’s nice. Let’s go there,” Pietro says.

                “That will take at least half an hour, though,” you tell him.

                “Then we’d better start now.”

                At first, you’re too proud to listen to his advice and do as he told you to. But eventually, as you start to feel more and more exhausted, as your voice breaks every time you give him directions, and as your feet start to hurt more and more, you give it a try. Deep, slow breaths, through your nose, through your mouth, repeat. You take fewer strides, longer ones. You catch up on Pietro to run by his side.

                “About time,” he says. “I was wondering when you would start.”

                “Well, I did, now don’t complain.” The young man only chuckles and shakes his head. It’s barely noticeable, but he starts running faster as time goes by. It’s probably twenty past seven now, and the bridge isn’t that far anymore. “We’re turning left, then we’ll be going straight till we reach the bridge,” you say quickly. You glance at Pietro, and you see his cheeks have turned pink at last. You were starting to wonder whether he was actually working out here. A few minutes pass, then you can see the bridge from afar. Shortly before you get to it, both of you slow down and begin walking instead of running.

                “So this is your bridge, yes?” Pietro asks.

                “Not _my_ bridge,” you reply, out of breath, but still smiling. “But yeah.”

                Pietro takes the water bottle out of the bag and gives it to you. You take it with a nod and swallow a few gulps of water before giving it to him. When you’re in the middle of the bridge, you stop completely and lean on the metal railing. The railroad stretches down below like a scar in the landscape. There’s no train yet, but usually, one goes by every ten minutes. You look up and far away. The houses are like tiny boxes on the hills. You’ve never been here at that time of the day before. It couldn’t have been better. For a while you don’t talk, and Pietro doesn’t either. The early morning sunrays hit the windows of the houses and bounce back, shattering the glass like flakes of gold. Then a train passes.

                “This isn’t so bad. Your bridge is a nice place to be,” Pietro says quietly.

                “It’s not my bridge,” you repeat absently.

                “To me, it is,” Pietro replies.

                For some reason, these few words make your heart flutter.

                You take a break here and stretch, then you start to come home. You know the way back is going to be long and exhausting, but it would be a shame to give up now, especially when you’ve already done half of it. Pietro goes slower this time, though, and you stop twice more to drink before you get home. But even though his advice was truly helpful, you’re just not used to running for this long and by the end of the way, your legs are shaking and feel like they weigh a ton. When you see your street, you let out a moan of delight and stop running without noticing. “I’m not gonna carry you,” Pietro warns.

                “I don’t care,” you croak. “Go home, I’ll catch up.”

                “No way,” the young man laughs. Just to piss him off, you stop completely. “Come on.”

                “What did you say about carrying me, again?” you say.

                “I’m not gonna do it,” Pietro shakes his head.

                “Really?”

                “Not gonna do it.”

                “I’ll make pancakes for breakfast.”

                Pietro sighs. “Get over here.”

                You were hoping for a comfortable bridal style type of carrying but he just grabs you and throws you over his shoulder. “Hey!” you let out. “That’s not what I wanted!”

                “I am carrying you,” Pietro replies imperturbably.

                “Put me down,” you command.

                “Sure,” he smirks.

                “No, no, no wait – ” you stammer when he starts to put you down for real.

                “You have to make up your mind, you know,” Pietro says.

                “Forget it, just take me home,” you groan. “Before I puke all over your back. I’m upside-down, you idiot.” Pietro’s laugh could probably be heard by the whole town.

                The speed at which you became friends is actually quite impressive. When you get inside your house, Pietro jogs to the sofa and drops you on it. You giggle when you bounce on the cushions. He sits next to you. “You know you stink, right?” he asks.

                “That’s not something you tell a girl, is it?” you retort.

                “You still stink,” he shrugs. For a moment, both of you are silent and you can only hear the sound of your breathing in the living-room – his, steady and deep, yours, faster and higher. Until he clears his throat. “So, about those pancakes of yours…”

                Your parents find you both laughing and throwing a napkin fight in the kitchen when they get up. “Who’s making pancakes?” your father asks. You don’t have time to reply – Pietro is already shoving a napkin down the back of your shirt.

                “Stop it, the pancake is going to burn!” you shriek, laughing anyway. Pietro says hello to your parents. When you turn around, you see your mother giving you a weird look. “What?”

                “Where did you go?” she asks.

                “Running. We went running,” you reply, tossing the pancake.

                “Didn’t know you liked running,” your father says.

                “Neither did I. But now I have a personal coach, right?” Pietro chuckles and he crosses his arms.

                “That’s nice, dear,” your mother says. “But you’re going to shower after breakfast, aren’t you?” You flush when you realize Pietro wasn’t just teasing you.

                “You stink too, anyway,” you mutter to him when you hear him laugh quietly.

 

~

 

                You spend the rest of that day at home, having tea in the garden, too. Pietro reads some of your comics, you read your book. Your parents announce you that tomorrow, the four of you are going to visit one of the most famous monuments in the city. Pietro is already asking all sorts of questions about it. The visit goes quite well. Actually, you seldom visit touristic monuments in your area because you're so used to living here that they have sort of become normal to you. But obviously, not to Pietro. He sends pictures to his sister through the Internet, and tells you she's asking for a selfie of you two. He ends up grabbing you and shoving you by his side, making a funny face in front of his phone. You go cross-eyed and stick out your tongue. Poor Wanda's eyes are going to bleed.

                On the following days, you go running again, and biking too. Pietro truly does enjoy sports. You wait a while before meeting friends while he's here but the next weekend, you text two of them and ask them to hang out. Pietro asks what you guys are going to do. "We could go to the mall, it's nice, really," you say. "There's stuff to eat, shops and all."

                "Alright, I wanted to bring back something for Wanda anyway. Could go for a dress or something." You nod and tell your friends you'll be meeting at the train station at two in the afternoon.

                You have to walk to the station, which isn't far. Your friends Ella and Luke are here. Strangely, Pietro doesn't act as cocky as usual now. He does look happy to meet your friends, though. Before the train arrives, you have time to explain the details of his trip to the two of them. The ride lasts about twenty minutes. The mall is very large, and there are many different shops in it. They go through various ones, Ella buying trainers here, you a skirt there, Luke a shirt somewhere else. Pietro looks around, impressed. "What is it?" you ask curiously.

                "I don't go to shopping centers very often," he explains. "I live in a small town."

                "Oh, right," you say. When you walk past Stradivarius, he taps your arm.

                "Can we go in there? Wanda likes the dresses here."

                "Sure."

                While Ella goes off searching for a pair of shoes, asking Luke for advice, you follow Pietro around. He seems to be looking at everything from a stranger's perspective - a boy looking at women's clothing. "I think she likes red and black," he says hesitantly.

                "Does she wear short things or long things?"

                "Short?" he answers, not really sure.

                "That one's pretty," you say, suggesting a short summer dress with thin straps crossed in the back. You grab it and look for something else. There's a nice outfit with a tight top and a high waisted skirt, showing a little skin.

                "This is nice," Pietro says.

                "Right." You pick one or two more things. "Which one do you think she'll like the most?"

                "Maybe you should wear them so that I can see what that looks like on a girl," the young man suggests. "I guess you're the same size as Wanda."

                "Why not," you smile, amused. Pietro waits outside by the fitting rooms while you try the outfits on. He stands there awkwardly. Clearly, the whole women's clothing thing makes him uncomfortable. You step out of the cabin wearing the summer dress. The fabric is really thin and light. Then the top and the skirt, which do look great. Pietro seems hesitant and you believe you're probably going to have to decide for him.

                The last thing you are trying on is a black dress. You almost don't want to show it to him, in fact. Standing in front of the mirror inside the cabin, you take a look at it. It's simple, short, unpretentious. But there's something about it that makes it perfect. You push the curtain of the cabin to the side, and Pietro turns to you. "What do you think?" you ask.

                He stares. "This isn't so bad," he breathes. He pulls his t-shirt down, trying to fix something that isn’t wrong, and you laugh nervously. "But - I think the skirt and the top are good for Wanda, she, she can wear them with that leather jacket of hers." His accent is heavier right now. You nod, slightly disappointed he didn't pick the dress, but still take it off and put back your clothes on. Ella and Luke meet you at the cash desk. She's bought a pair of pink sandals. Pietro buys the outfit and you walk out of the store together.

                "Maybe we could have a drink?" Luke suggests.

                "Wait, I - I left my phone on the chair near the changing rooms," Pietro lets out. "I'll be right back," he says. You wait for him and when he comes back, a bright smile crosses his lips. "I'm alright."

                The four of you order drinks at Starbucks and sit down at a table. This is really cool. Pietro looks happy with himself and starts acting like he usually does again. Sipping from your orange juice, you laugh at his jokes and enjoy the sound of his voice.

                You're back home for dinner. Pietro helps you set the table. "Are you going to show Wanda what you bought her?" you ask him.

                "No, I'll give it to her when I go back home," he answers. "She likes surprises."

 

~

 

                After barely more than a week and a half, Pietro and you are acting like lifelong friends. Sometimes, it's like he grew up down the street. It feels like you just gained a brother – minus the fights. It’s actually such a relief not to have to spend a whole month with someone boring or annoying. You don’t go running with him every day but sometimes, before you get up, you hear him step down the stairs quietly, and you go back to sleep with a smile on your face. Of course, there happen to be glitches from time to time, like the evening when you decide to have a shower instead of waiting till morning because the day was particularly hot, and Pietro accidentally walks into the bathroom while you’re in it. He immediately slams the door closed as you let out a scream and shouts apologies from outside. Silence follows, then both of you are laughing.

                There isn’t really any awkwardness after stuff like this, even though you expected some. Pietro is really relaxed and easy-going when it comes to living with other people, apparently. And he’s always shirtless. Oh God. Always shirtless. After showering, before going running, even sometimes while running, before going to bed, sleeping. Your parents don’t mind and you’re fine with it, and it’s even quite pleasant, honestly. You start to realize Pietro is handsome.

                Maybe you knew it since the moment you turned around and saw his face at the airport. The moment you feel yourself falling for Pietro is the day you come home from grocery shopping – your parents left for the weekend – and find him in the kitchen trying to bake a cake. And having trouble with it. As soon as you step in and you smell chocolate, you know what’s happening and you rush to the kitchen. Pietro’s t-shirt looks like it used to be blue but it isn’t really anymore. He looks surprised to see you there. “Uh. Tell me you’re not seeing this,” he says with a clumsy grin.

                “I am,” you say, leaning against the doorframe and crossing your arms. “Very good at cooking, you said, right?” Pietro mumbles something you don’t hear and you walk to the working surface, grabbing a sponge and handing it to him.

                “I’ll clean it all, yes?”

                “You do that. I’m gonna fix this,” you reply. The mixture he was making, apparently for a chocolate cake, doesn’t have enough flour in it, and is slightly too sweet. Pietro wipes the kitchen counter and the wall too, erasing all traces of chocolate and powdered sugar. “Watch and learn,” you tease him. He just stands behind you awkwardly, and for the first time since you met him, he looks genuinely embarrassed. You feel his presence and a smile forms on your lips. “You need to learn how to cook, you’re doing it wrong,” you say. Within a few minutes, you manage to fix what he didn’t do correctly. You focus on whisking the eggs, forgetting he’s there for a moment. Until two hands wrap around your waist.

                You don’t say a word, and neither does Pietro. The gesture does have meaning but you push that thought away, deciding to believe he is just very tactile. He’s warm, chest inches away from your back. You want to put the bowl down and to put the whisker down and to just take a step backwards and lean against him. You lick your lips. “Done,” you let out, your voice only a whisper. You clear your throat. At least he managed to find a baking tin, it’s within your reach and you fill it with the batter. Then you pull away.

                Pietro’s hands leaving your sides feel like something’s been taken from you. Again, you decide to ignore it, and put the cake in the oven. “Good thing you came back before I poisoned all of us,” Pietro says.

                You smile. “Right.”

 

~

 

                Tonight is movie night. The popcorn you bought from the supermarket is ready and warm, you have a bottle of Coke ready, and parents are still away, only coming back tomorrow morning. You slide the _Harry Potter_ DVD into the player and sit by Pietro’s side on the sofa. This sounds like the right thing to watch. Both of you have seen it twice already but it’s good and cute so who cares. You’ve left the window half-open, lights off in the room to avoid insects flying in. There’s probably someone having a barbecue in the neighbourhood, given the crisp smell. The sun is going down and the air is starting to feel fresher but humid. Both Pietro and you are wearing sweatpants and sleeveless shirts. “Do you need subtitles?” you tease before playing the movie.

                “Shut up,” he replies. You sit comfortably on the sofa, your back against the cushions, and dip your hand into the popcorn bowl. Here you go.

                The time you spend in the living-room seems to make your bodies give off heat. Pietro takes off his shirt in the middle of the movie and you restrain a smile, amused by the way he does it, like he’s trying to act like you’re not staring when you are. You wonder how fucking longer he’s going to wait. It’s so quiet.

                You thought you wouldn’t be taken by surprise but when he kisses you, your heart still quivers in your chest. The movie keeps playing but neither of you pays any attention to the screen anymore. Pietro’s lips are warm. The kiss is slow, effortless, honest. He’s curious, waits for your reaction before making it deeper. He parts from you for a second then presses kisses on your neck. You feel hot down below. Close your eyes. Pietro leaves pale red marks all over your skin, neck, collarbone, shoulder. You lie down on the sofa and pull him over you, taking his lips again. But he stops you, and gives you a strange look. “Wait,” he breathes.

                “What are you doing?”

                “Doing as you told me. I’m taking it slow.”

                You let out a groan. “Fuck.”

                Both of you stay there on the sofa even long after the movie ends. You’re hot and your heart’s thumping and Pietro is sweaty and breathless. He’s hard. You don’t say anything about it. Around midnight, you sit up and gaze at him from above. “What?” he says. His voice is rough. You shake your head and lie down next to him once again. Your clothes stick to your skin. It takes time for you to tear yourself from the sofa and turn the TV off, bring the half-empty bottle of Coke back to the fridge and put the glasses in the dishwasher. You don’t turn any of the lights on. The street lamps outside are enough to allow you to see what you need to see. Pietro catches you in the middle of the kitchen and wraps his arms around you from behind, shifting from left to right foot in a sleepy dance.

                “You should go…to your room,” you let out. He doesn’t speak and holds you for a while, then he lets go. You follow him up the stairs. Your feet hit the wooden steps softly. You brush your teeth together, pretending not to look at each other in the mirror. Sometimes you do glance at him. His hair is messed up and his eyes are red. Before you go to bed, he kisses you again, hands touching you everywhere. When he slips his fingers under your sweatpants, you push him away, step into your room, and start to close the door. He’s still looking at you when the door closes. It takes more than half an hour for your breath to steady and your heart to slow down. The walls are thin and in the other room, Pietro is groaning.

 

 


	3. Three

 

                Pietro doesn't go running the next day. Instead he tiptoes into your room before breakfast, waking you up. He sits on your bed and you look at him. His hair is tousled and his eyes puffy from sleep, and you notice a few bruises on his neck, flowering red or fading to pink. "Good morning," he says hoarsely. The sound of his accent, subtle as ever, makes you close your eyes again and curl up on the mattress. You slept above the sheets because of the heat. Pietro leans in and his lips brush yours but you stop him.

                "Wait," you say with difficulty.

                "Yes?" he asks, sounding puzzled and disappointed.

                "Morning breath," you let out.

                He chuckles. "I don't care."

                You let him kiss you before the two of you get up. His stubble teases your cheeks and you run your fingers through his hair; Pietro's got one hand on your chest. He pulls away first, probably to avoid yesterday's situation. You follow him out of the bedroom, and both of you go downstairs to make coffee. The scent of him is all over your clothes.

                It does feel a bit strange knowing you’re flirting with someone you met two weeks ago and who was only supposed to be a foreign student your family would host. You shut your eyes for a few seconds. You need to sort out your thoughts. Focusing on the sound of the hot liquid on the cups, you start to pour the coffee. Oh well, it’s not that bad. It’s summer, you think, and Pietro doesn’t look like the kind of guy to start drama. Maybe you could give it a try – for the two remaining weeks, that is. You’re not done yet when Pietro sneaks behind you and places small kisses on the back of your neck, biting here and there. “Stop it,” you murmur, shaking your head, but you can’t help smiling.

                “Why?” Pietro says, words muffled against your skin. His hands get dangerously close to your chest.

                “You’re distracting me.”

                “That’s the point.”

                When the front door of the house opens, you step away. Your parents are in the hall and even though you don’t know whether they saw the two of you from there, you don’t want to take the chance. You pull your t-shirt back down, grab the cups of coffee, and go sit at the table.

                Later, Pietro is waiting for you when you leave the bathroom. Skin flushed by the hot water, wet hair, you climb the stairs and see him standing there, shoulder against the doorframe of his room, eyes on you. "You know," he begins quietly, "if I was home and you were with me, I would take you on a date."

                "Don't be silly," you reply, reaching out to open the door of your own bedroom. "And you're not home, if you hadn't noticed."

                Pietro chuckles behind you. "That's right." You didn’t mean to be harsh, but he sounds a bit sad. Won’t last long, you think. You enjoy teasing him.

                Your parents' summer break is over and today is their first day back to work, which means you'll be alone with Pietro most of the time from now on. This makes you feel both excited and worried. Every time he manages to kiss you, you feel him pushing slightly harder. And yourself giving in. When your mother and your father leave the house, you prepare for one day of tension . And it isn't long before Pietro begins.

                "Let's go out today," he says to you while you're cooking pasta for lunch.

                "Sure," you say. "Anywhere in particular you wanna go?"

                "I don't know," the young man replies, sitting backwards on a chair, arms on its back. "You seem to be good at finding romantic places, though. Your bridge, your garden..."

                "The bridge wasn't meant to be romantic."

                "Oh, it was," he nods.

                "Fine. Let's go downtown and grab a drink," you cut.

                It’s nothing big, but Pietro's eyes glow with satisfaction. You spend a nice moment in town, sitting under an umbrella at a café. People are walking in the street. It’s hot, it’s sunny. You get back home at the end of the afternoon. Pietro hasn’t spoken in a while now. You feel tired, the sun’s weighed on you, all you want to do is lie down and do something that doesn’t require effort. The sensation of your bare feet on the tiled floor after you take off your shoes is a huge relief. You throw Pietro a thin smile and he follows you upstairs. After fetching your laptop in your bedroom, the two of you settle down on his bed. You play quiet music, Pietro fiddles on his phone, you check your social media, feel bored.

                It seems like you both get more or less the same idea at the same time. Without really thinking, you move and your thigh meets Pietro’s. He’s lying accross the mattress and doesn’t look up, but he does reach for you and caresses your skin just below the seam of your shorts, playing with the fabric from time to time. Suddenly you pay no attention to the Internet and your mind’s on Pietro’s touch. First he only holds you and presses his fingertips softly on your thigh, then little by little, he gets more insistent, inching closer to the inside of your legs. You smile in spite of yourself.

                You’re responsive to him and begin to feel aroused. It only takes a couple more minutes till he unbuttons your shorts and pull them off you, leaving you in your t-shirt and underwear. You say nothing, pretending to be absorbed by whatever website you’re on. He kisses your shoulder, and you feel good. Through the window, the last sunrays of the day are drifting in, and the music is just enough to fill the empty space, gentle and low. Pietro goes for your lips and you kiss him back, hand on his cheek. He takes the laptop from you, closes it and puts it on the desk by the bed, coming back for you right away.

                As he lies top of you, you wrap your legs around his body instinctively. Your lips join and it feels so good, at every kiss he leaves you wanting more. He sits up to take off his shirt after a while and you take off yours too, shivering when his skin touches yours. You don’t have your prettiest bra on and it doesn’t even match your panties, but whatever the two of you are doing feels more like casual, comfortable foreplay than a magical scene from a romance novel. Through his sweatpants, you feel Pietro getting hard.

                “Condoms?” he asks absently.

                “Don’t know,” you say, and your voice is already shaking a bit. “Check the bathroom closet.”

                Pietro gets up and strolls out of the bedroom. You stay where you are, unmoving, breathing in and out slowly. Somehow you don’t feel so frightened or worried. Pietro’s just fine, this is like sleeping with a friend, even if you haven’t known him for long. It’s gonna be alright. You hear him rummaging about in the bathroom; carboard boxes opening, closing. He comes back after a minute or two, a condom in his right hand. “Missed me?” he asks quietly.

                “Not really,” you reply playfully.

                “That’s sad,” Pietro shrugs. “Alright.” He gets back on the bed, leaning in for a kiss. He undresses and you watch him, mapping his body with your eyes.

                You’re both really relaxed and when he gets inside you, it feels natural. He doesn’t move at all for a while but when he starts to, it’s effortless, slow, almost lazy. You don’t mind. It’s too hot outside anyway; you prefer to go for something cooler. Sometimes your noses bump or something tickles but it’s never painful. Pietro’s a pleasant lover, always steady, and it feels like when he makes love to you, he’s being honest and spontaneous. There are no secrets, nothing is embellished, it's just the way it is. You don’t like being overly ceremonious, you don’t like caring too much. Your sweaty palms and the noises you make when he kisses you and the curses he lets out sometimes that you don’t understand and the stubble on his jaw are a thing, but they’re part of it all and you find yourself liking all that stuff.

                A few times you laugh together when one of you groans really loud or when you accidentally hit your elbow against the wall. The bed isn’t that wide and when you get carried away and want to get on top of him, you almost fall off, resulting in racing hearts and simultaneous swearwords muttered between kisses. You’re happy you took it slow because waiting feels good. Before Pietro comes his hips stutter for the first time and his kisses become messier. You’re both quiet and it ends in short, breathless moans.

                Pietro chuckles tiredly, and collapses next to you on the mattress. You don’t put all your clothes back on, only your panties, before you snuggle up to him. “Didn’t think you’d be the cuddly type,” he lets out.

                “That’s all you have to say?” you ask.

                “I like you,” he admits.

                “I like you too.”

                His hand on your waist feels good. Sleepy neck kisses. You fall asleep within minutes.

 

~

 

                You wake up hot, sticky and wet, but strangely rested. It takes you time to adjust to the bright light in the room. Pietro is sprawled on the mattress beside you, head in the pillow, and his hair is a silver mess. You look at him for a few seconds, before realizing this doesn’t feel like the evening. This feels like eight in the morning. Groaning, you sink back into the bed, cursing yourself for spending the night here. You skipped dinner, which means your parents probably called you and when you didn’t come, they must have checked on you. Sounds like there is going to be an annoying conversation happening.

                You don’t wake Pietro up. He looks too peaceful. Instead you lie next to him quietly, mesmerized by his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes. He’s toned from running. As you huddle up to him, you think of what you did yesterday, expecting to feel regrets. But you have none. You do like him, he makes you feel good and happy. The clock soon strikes nine. Your parents must be long since gone, which is a good thing. When Pietro wakes up, the first thing he does is wrap his arm around you and close his eyes again. “What, you’re tired?” you say, whispering without noticing.

                “Yes,” he says simply.

                “Okay,” you smile a little. You like seeing him like this, he’s completely different from when he’s awake. And much more quiet. You decide to give him a couple more minutes of rest before teasing him awake. You kiss his neck and leave small marks, fingers reaching for his hand. He doesn’t make a sound, but you see him nibble on his lower lip.

                “Stop it,” he groans in the end. “Stop it, I’ve got a hard-on.”

                Amused, you let go of him. “I’m gonna make coffee.”

                He joins you in the kitchen about ten minutes later, still wearing only his underwear. “Hey,” he says.

                “Hey,” you say. You give him his cup of coffee and after taking a sip, he kisses your lips.

                When your parents come back that evening, you freeze and wait to be called – it doesn’t take long. You meet your mother downstairs, in the living-room. She’s watching TV, but you know this is just to make the conversations less awkward. Both of you do this quite often. “So,” she says. “Had a good day?”

                “Yeah,” you answer, sitting on the armrest of the sofa.

                “Had a good night?” This time, you don’t reply and you stare at the TV screen. That’s the news and you don’t listen to a single word that’s being said. “Look, I’m glad you’re getting along with Pietro,” your mother says. “Just keep in mind that he’s leaving in less than two weeks. I’m okay with you two doing whatever you want to do right now but best not get too attached.” You don’t say anything. She’s right. You’ve always been thinking about how you only met two weeks ago but fact is that it will be over soon. This new perspective makes you feel strange. Without a word, you get up and walk away. Your mother calls you back just as you start to go upstairs. “(Y/N). Please throw the condoms away by yourself from now on. I won’t do it again.”

                You realize halfway up the stairs that what you’re feeling is sadness. Pietro gets out of his room when he hears you coming. “Hey,” he begins, “Wanda sent me vines she liked, do you wanna watch them with me?”

                “Sure,” you say. “Wanna go biking tomorrow?”

                “Sounds great.”

                The following days consist mostly in the two of you watching movies on your laptop, too lazy to go to the living-room, eating whatever you want, and making love with the windows open. Sometimes when you get up late you also dance in the kitchen to your favourite songs in your pyjamas and socks. You feel like if the two of you stayed together for a little while longer, you would be in a relationship. Nothing is complicated with him.

                Once, he shows up in your room at night, when you thought he was about to go to bed. Sitting cross-legged on your bed, you look up and see him with a small bag in his hands. "I have something for you," he says. You nod at him to come in and he hands the bag to you. When you dip your hand in it, you know at once what's inside.

                "You're an idiot," you say absently.

                "I thought there would be a perfect moment to give it to you," Pietro replies, sitting next to you, "but I never really chose one so here we go. Actually, it's not that important so that's why I thought there is no need to do something big for this."

                "Alright," you say. "Do you still want to see me in it?"

                "Sure, I want to."

                You get up and take off your shirt and shorts unceremoniously, stepping out of them, before slipping into the little black dress. You were ready to sleep, hair up and tired eyes, but seeing the pretty thing on you makes you feel good about yourself. You move a bit for Pietro to see how it looks. "What do you think?"

                "It looks great," he answers with a satisfied grin. Lying down on the mattress, he pulls you to him. "What do _you_ think?"

                "I think you're really sweet," you let out, pressing a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for the dress."

                He chuckles low and you feel the vibrations of it against your shoulder. His hands brush your waist, then your hips, and he holds you tight. "This isn't so bad," he mumbles sleepily. "We could stay here for years."

                "Alright," you say, biting back a smile. "I'd love that."

                But before you know it two weeks have passed and you lie awake at night, wishing you had more time to spend with Pietro. He may be cocky, he may be childish sometimes, but he's also terribly loveable. You're going to miss him. Feeling a little guilty for waking him up, you rest your hand on his arm. You've both been sleeping in his bed or yours together recently - usually the one you end up on while watching a movie or playing games in the evening. "Pietro?"

                "What?" he breathes immediately. He wasn't sleeping either.

                "Can you kiss me?" He doesn't ask questions and puts his lips on yours, pressing softly. He holds you and your legs are tangled together. Through the window left half-open, you can hear cars moving in the streets far away. Maybe you cry a little that night and though Pietro doesn't say anything about it, you know he notices because he hugs you tighter and gives you those neck kisses you love the most. Now the pillows and the sheets have taken on his scent. You bury your face in his chest and close your eyes, wishing you could fall asleep.

                "Love you," you hear him whisper.

                It takes you time to be able to say it back but when you do, you think you feel him shiver. "Love you, Pietro."

 

~

 

                The plane will be taking off at five in the afternoon. You still feel sad, but it isn't the overwhelming rush if emotions you felt the previous night - more like annoyance, anger and regret itching on your skin. Maybe if something or something else had gone differently, you wouldn't have had to part from him. It's just such a shame because if there had been one more month, even two more weeks, it would have been enough to really get together. This was too short and it's making you feel bad. There's no way you've known each other long enough to have a long-distance relationship.

                You help Pietro pack his things. His clothes are easy to gather but there are CDs of his scattered everywhere, and it takes you almost one hour of searching for his earphones to find them at last, under the mattress of your bed. Your mom has baked cookies for him to bring back for his family. You make sure he doesn’t forget to pack Wanda’s outfit, and the two of you have to sit on his suitcase to shut it. He’s sad to be leaving. He doesn’t look sad but he sounds and feels sad. His hands linger on your waist just a moment longer when you’re side by side, and every grin he cracks vanishes much more quickly than usual. You want to tease him and say _you’re gonna miss me, right?_ But you feel like it won’t be really funny.

                Your father took a day off to be able to drive the two of you to the airport, and you back home, but your mother is going to work and she says goodbye to Pietro before she leaves. He looks so happy when he sees the cookies you suddenly wish you could bake something for him everyday for the rest of your life. In the early afternoon, you watch a movie on your laptop, sprawled on your bed, but neither of you is actually paying attention to the screen. Halfway through it, Pietro closes the computer and pulls you above him, undressing you clumsily. His hands are shaking a little bit and your too and you silence moans by kissing him, only parting for him to take off his shirt. You’re quiet and quick, and it doesn’t feel any better than usual, but you’re relieved to have had time for this.

                After you’ve finished, Pietro puts his clothes back on but you stay in your underwear, snuggling up to him. You’ll have to go soon.

                In the end, everything feels awkward when you’re off to the airport because neither of you wants to make it all feel dramatic because this isn’t the goodbye of the century, but you undeniably feel sad. Your father says nothing about it. You’re glad he doesn’t. Pietro and you don’t talk in the car. You watch the outside absently. When you get there, you’re early so you have time to have a drink after giving Pietro’s luggage to the plane staff. You order tea at Starbucks and Pietro takes orange juice. And you’re back to the start.

                “What will you be doing when you get home?” you ask after clearing your throat.

                “I’ve got a race in three days,” Pietro says. He told you about it during his stay, and he sounded much more eager to run in it than he does now. “And Wanda told me she wanted to do stuff with me. I don’t know. Not much, I guess,” he finishes. When you head to his terminal, he looks like a little kid with his feet dragging on the floor. You feel silly, being sad to see him leave after such little time. You got attached too fast. Doors are open, there aren’t many people here.

                It’s time to say goodbye and your father shakes Pietro’s hand. Then you hug Pietro awkwardly, and when he kisses you, your father pretends to be looking somewhere else and not to notice. You hold on to him for a while, and wonder what would happen if you refused to let him go and clung to him like a fucking kid. You want him to stay.

                Your father clears his throat and you let go. The three of you stay silent for a moment, and you avoid Pietro’s eyes. Your father grins. He looks like he’s been waiting to say something for ages. Something slightly crazy. Dipping his hand in the pocket of his jacket, he says, “I hope you really don’t have anything planned next month, Pietro.” The young man gives him a puzzled look, and you stand there, wondering what’s going on. Your father takes out a small envelope and hands it to you. Ever so dramatic. You open it – it hasn’t been stuck shut – and grab what’s inside. It’s a plane ticket to a city you do not know. In Sokovia.

                “Go to Hell, Dad,” you let out slowly, stunned. Pietro’s eyes are wide at the moon.

                “Is it for (Y/N)?” he asks your Dad.

                “Sure, the flight’s taking off tomorrow.”

                You let out the breath you’ve been holding. “How long has this been planned?”

                “About one week.”

                “That’s mean,” you reply, grimacing. He let the two of you feel like crap without telling you about the flight.

                “Well, thank you, I guess,” Pietro says. He’s too stunned to look happy, but he sure does sound like he is. You just shake your head, laugh quietly and hug Pietro again. “See you soon,” he whispers in your ear. You kiss his cheek and let him go. He waves your Dad goodbye, grabs his suitcase and walks away, turning around a few times to smile at you. Then he shows his passport to a flight attendant and disappears behind a turn in the corridor.

                “What do you think?” your father asks you after a minute or two.

                “I think _fuck you_ ,” you say. “You could’ve told me about it earlier.”

                “No way,” he replies. “That was too funny to watch. Now let’s go home, you’ll pack your things.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who likes stupid endings??!!!! Apparently i do!!! When i proof-read this i was like wtf this is so ridiculous  
> ...............yikes anyway  
> I'd be so so so happy if you told me what you think about the story! Hope you liked it even just a little bit haha  
> Peace out <3


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